Permit to Drive

     Nothing says Happy Holidays like a trip to the California DMV.  Today we made such a trek, my 15-and-a-half year old daughter, Fiona, and I.  She had an appointment to take her Learners' Permit Test today at 10:20 AM.  Good thing she had that appointment, or we would still be there.  As it was, we didn't get called to Window 13 until close to 10:45.  There, a man who appeared to shave his eyebrows explained the procedure, stamped, stamped, stamped our forms, and gave Fiona her vision test.  She passed that with flying colors, I paid $31 and it was off to the Test and Photo Window.  She had her picture taken there, took her written test in isolation while I waited with the huddled masses, and then stood in the Test Correction Line.  She was a bit apprehensive, but only got 3 wrong (you can miss 8 and still pass!)  The lady at the Correction Window congratulated her, explained that she had to have 2 hours of professional drivers' training before she could drive with her Dad or me, and sent us on our way.  All of this took a little more than an hour.

     One thing that always strikes me at places like the DMV, for instance the NYC Subway, is the similar aroma that emanates from them.  Is it that people don't care what they look or smell like when going to these  places?  I do not notice the same scent at, say, Symphony concerts, where people may shower and shave before heading out the door.  Is it that people stop by the DMV before or after work, and are kind of smelly from their labor?  Who the heck knows?  But at any rate, the smell mixed nicely with the festive decorations that the employees had taken great care to put up all around.  Each window had a wreath and there were several nutcrackers bedecking filing cabinets.  There was even a Peanuts Winter Scene on one of the walls.  On one of the windows hung a huge Santa's  sleigh and eight giant reindeer. Winding garlands of tinsel completed the look, putting us in such a joyous mood that we went for a late brunch at Neil's, a local coffee shop.  There, a different odor wafted from the doors:  that of hash browns and toast.  As we got in the car and drove out of sight,  I had to say "Congratulations, Fiona!  And to all a Good Night!"

Great Symphonic Disasters: Part 2

     Back in the late 1970's, a year or so before I played there, a near-fatal tragedy took place at a concert of the Mexico City Philharmonic.  One of the halls we played in doubled as an opera stage, and so was very steeply raked, that is slanted, to enable the illusion of perspective.  A piano concerto was to be performed and a nine foot concert grand was rolled into place.  Someone forgot to lock the wheels properly and as everyone watched, horrified, the piano rolled off the stage and into the audience with a god-awful crash.  Thanks to God and the muses of music, no one happened to be seated in the affected seats, or surely someone would have been crushed.   I am not sure what happened after that, but I assume, after the dust settled, the concert continued, if not exactly as planned.

     After a year in Mexico City, I returned to play in the San Diego Symphony.  I remember a Sunday matinee, when we started the program with Roman Carnival Overture by  Berlioz.  During the lovely English horn solo in the beginning, everything was going along swimmingly when CRASH!, a cymbal back in the percussion fell off the riser and startled the bejeebers out of everyone, most especially the English horn soloist.  But as per usual, the concert went on as if nothing had happened.

     During my final summer in San Diego, we played many, if not mostly, outdoor concerts.  They were in the pops style, with light classics in the first half, and a popular entertainer the second half.   I won't say who the pop star was, (for her safety and mine) but she had a huge voice and had gotten her start in Vaudeville and on the Broadway stage.  During the first half of this particular concert, we were playing a violin concerto.  As the soft and slow second movement got started, we could hear a muffled but rather raucous voice coming over the loudspeakers.  The words were intelligible, but definitely loud and distracting.  We kept playing, hoping against hope that it would stop.  But naturally it did not.  Finally, after the added insult of the sound of a toilet flushing, the conductor could take no more, stopped the orchestra, and walked off stage to see what was going on.  A minute or so later, he returned to a quiet stage, we began again, and finished in peace.  The pop star, we later found out, had had her contact mike on in her dressing room and she was being broadcast over the entire venue.  Always the true professional, she came out for the second half and sang and danced as if nothing had been amiss.  Let's just say her voice was so big, she didn't even really need that microphone!

Wild Kingdom

     As I sit at the computer and gaze out our back sliding door, I am struck by the number and different varieties of birds who fly in and out of the back deck.  Simply by putting up two songbird feeders and a hummingbird feeder, we have created our own small nature preserve.  Every day dozens of finches,  chickadees, towhees, wrens, and of course, sparrows vie for spots at the feeding stations.  We had never even seen goldfinches around here before and now, with their special feeder, I have counted nine perched on it at once.  Usually only one hummingbird uses its feeder; probably the same one, since  hummingbirds are so territorial.  I have seen another one attempt to use it, but then is chased away by the rightful owner.  Only in the late evening have I seen more than one on the feeder.  My sister has named this phenomenon "last call."  Hummingbirds go into an almost hibernating state during the night, since they require so much sustenance during the day when active.  Because that last bit of nightly nutrition is so important, they seem to cut each other some slack right before it gets dark.  One evening in early autumn, when it was still warm at dusk, I sat quietly on the deck.  Suddenly, four hummingbirds flew onto the feeder and shared their last drink of the day.  It was an other-worldly experience;  almost like being in a dream.  They drank quietly for quite some time, and then sated, flew off for the night.

     We have another songbird and another hummingbird feeder in the front yard.  This hummingbird feeder seems to be ruled by a different hummer.  I say that because he has a different style.   While the one in the back sits motionless while feeding, looking up from time to time, the one in front keeps flapping its wings while it sucks the nectar.  The backyard hummer doesn't seem to go out front;  rarely have I seen a skirmish.  But I have seen some pretty daring feats by our resident squirrels.

   There are two main squirrels who live together in the hole of a tree in the back yard.  One is brownish-gray and the other, an unusual, sleek black.  His name is Shadow.  His friend is Gray (after our former California Governor, Gray Davis.)  Shadow's main mission in life is to get seeds from the bird feeders.  In the past, he has been fairly successful.  Our first songbird feeder out front was made, of all things, plastic.  Often, Shadow would be seen hanging by his back toe-nails, chewing away at the top of the feeder.  It didn't take him long to hit the jackpot.  Our next feeder, after the first was demolished, had a supposedly "squirrel-proof" canopy that sat on top.  That was a minor distraction to Shadow.  He immediately climbed over it, a mere inconvenience, and  began chewing away until it, too, was destroyed. We finally ordered the super-deluxe, absolutely-squirrel-proof-or-your-money-back feeder.  Built like a tank, it was steel with smooth sides that no squirrel could conquer.  Shadow took this on as his personal challenge.  Try as he might, he could not get down to the feeder, with its built in canopy.  But that did not deter him.  Perched on the tree trunk directly opposite the feeder by about six feet, he hurled himself into space and tried to grab hold of the feeder from the side.  Unfortunately for Shadow, this was impossible and he fell to the ground.  Never one to give up, he kept at this for most of the afternoon.  By evening, he had called it quits.

     Grim determination has always held a soft spot in my heart.  My husband  and I agreed that we had to provide Shadow and Gray their own dining experience.  The next day, Rich perused squirrel feeders from the squirrel-proof bird feeder catalog.  In it was pictured a small, scale-model  green, metal Adirondack chair with a squirrel seated properly, gnawing on a corncob.  "That's it! We've got to get this one!"  I agreed and one was ordered.  We anxiously awaited its arrival. 

     When it was delivered, Rich immediately installed it in the tree in front and screwed in the corncob-like squirrel chow.   It didn't take very long before Blackie settled in for a good chew.  But to this day, neither he nor his buddy sit properly in the chair as demonstrated in the catalog.  They both sit on the arm rests.  And, I'm happy to report, there has been no more squirrel-hurling at the bird feeder.